


From the Earlier

by elistaire



Category: Highlander: The Raven, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Amnesia, Community: hlh_shortcuts, M/M, Quickening Tricks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-03
Updated: 2013-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-23 11:19:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/621553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elistaire/pseuds/elistaire
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Priori Syndrome is a plague of the memory. Immortals can catch it, and if they survive, they're never the same again. If. Usually, they're just hunted down and beheaded. So when Connor comes across an old friend, and she's got the Syndrome, he takes her home to care for her, and calls for help. Now Connor, Duncan, and Methos are all in danger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	From the Earlier

**Author's Note:**

  * For [killabeez](https://archiveofourown.org/users/killabeez/gifts).



> The story contains mostly tv-level Highlander violence, but there is one small part toward the end that has some unpleasant violence to it. I wouldn't really call it graphic, but it could be a bit disturbing to readers, so just be aware that it is there. Most of the story isn't violent at all.

A few decades ago, Connor wouldn’t have said that he possessed any more or less magic than an ordinary human being, his Immortality being the exception to that rule. Along the more recent path of his journey, and along with some recent powerful Quickenings, he had picked up a few tricks, and a broader awareness of so much more than he had once been used to. The sensation of knowledge waiting tingled along the base of his skull. He had only to turn his attention to it, and he would become aware of more information than he would ever have been privy to before. 

Today that awareness fairly itched a broad swatch up his spine and into his head. 

He reached out his awareness as he walked along the street. He’d intended to drink a beer and enjoy a blues band at a nearby pub, but something was out there in the shadows, and it was screaming for his attention. It felt both familiar, and wrong. 

There, he caught the faintest edge of it, and followed the thin scrap of tether back to the source. 

He skirted down an alley, hyper aware of possible danger, until the signature of another Immortal played along his skin. 

“Who’s there?” he demanded, and waited. The alley smelled unpleasantly of garbage, vomit, and old restaurant fryer grease. Behind him he could hear the movement of traffic, and an occasional blast of car horn. Ahead of him, he could hear the irregular breathing of a frightened individual, holding his or her breath, and the soft skritch-scratch of pushing further into a small space, trying to hide. Whomever this Immortal was, they weren’t lying in wait for Connor’s head. They were frightened, and trying to hide, and possibly contemplating flight. 

Connor sighed. Another newly minted Immortal, and one who probably didn’t even know what they were. Otherwise, the headache from his presence would have let them know that hiding was impossible. Or a very clever old Immortal luring him in. But he thought it more likely to be the former. 

“Come on out. I won’t hurt you,” he said. “I know you’re there. And you know I’m here.”

After a long pause, the rustle of fabric told him that the person was moving. A moment later, a shape emerged from the darkness. It was a woman, petite and pretty, and dressed well, but covered in grime and grunge. And Connor knew her. 

“Rebelda?” he asked, disbelieving his own eyes. Rebelda did not cower in alleys. She commanded armies, and found ways to victory from impossible situations. Rebelda came along to save Connor’s ass, not the other way around. “What are you doing here?”

Rebelda eyed him warily. “How do you know my name?” she asked. “And how can I feel you in my head?”

“We’re friends,” he said. “Don’t you remember me?” She looked to be in decent shape, with appropriate muscle definition and physique. She hadn’t been out on the streets for long. “What do you recall?” he asked. “How many days have you been out here?”

“I don’t know. A few,” she answered warily, and he couldn’t tell if she was being cautious or truthful with him. 

He held up both hands as a sign of peace. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. “I want to help you. Can you trust me enough to come with me? I’ll get you some food. And you can rest. We can talk, and find out what happened.”

She hesitated, and he couldn’t blame her. He didn’t think, if their positions were reversed, that he would trust a stranger either. 

“I know you,” he said. “We’ve been friends for a long time. Very good friends.”

“Give me some money,” she said, “If we are friends, then we can talk tomorrow after I’ve eaten and slept, by myself.”

Connor considered that. He would have no problem with it, if it didn’t leave her open to another Immortal attacking her. He considered his options. The chances of another Immortal coming upon her were slim, though not zero. Whereas having Rebelda trust him if he didn't hand over some money was absolutely nil. He pulled out his wallet, and took all of his cash out. He handed it to her. It was enough for food and a few nights in a decent hotel. “I also want to give you something else,” he said. “It’s a gun, so don’t be frightened when I reveal it.” 

She took a few steps back, still clutching the money. 

Connor slowly took out the small revolver that he kept at his ankle. It was a concession to dealing with the trouble that humans caused rather than something he used in Immortal challenges, but it had been an item he had started to carry in the past few years. It held six .22 bullets, and was a good deterrent more than it solved serious problems. Connor handed the gun over. “Do you know how to use it?” he asked. 

Rebelda nodded, with a strange expression on her face. “I remember,” she said. “I’m familiar with it.” 

Connor chuckled. “You are,” he agreed. “A damn good shot.”

With a fluidity that came with muscle memory, Rebelda examined the gun, checked it over, and then tucked it away. 

Connor tapped his head. “That feeling that you had in your head, when I came near. If you feel that again, and it isn’t me, I want you to shoot whomever it is, and run away.”

Rebelda frowned. “Shoot?” she echoed. “That’s crazy!”

“There’s a lot you don’t remember yet,” Connor said. “I have to tell you some important things, and it’s going to take awhile. This is really important. You have some enemies out there that want to do you harm.”

Rebelda studied Connor for a long moment. She looked at the cash in her hand and then pulled out the gun from the pocket she had stowed it into. “I think perhaps I will come with you after all. But for now, I will keep the gun and the money.”

Connor felt a wash of relief. “Let’s get off the street.”

***** 

Duncan gave the pot of sauce one last stir and reached to answer the phone. “MacLeod,” he said. 

“Duncan, it’s Connor,” came the familiar raspy voice. 

“Connor!” Duncan said. “I was just thinking of calling you. Adam and I are all set with our plane tickets. We’ll be there the Wednesday before Thanksgiving--"

“Duncan,” Connor interrupted him. “There’s a slight problem.”

“What problem?” Duncan asked. Across the room, Methos stirred from the couch. He put down his laptop and came over into the kitchen, motioning at Duncan to put the speaker-phone on. 

“It’s complicated,” Connor said, and he sounded weary and tense, both. 

“Adam’s here,” Duncan said. “I’m putting you on speaker. If it’s our kind of problem, you know we’d both help you. No matter how.” Duncan punched the buttons on the phone. 

“I know,” Connor said. “Adam?”

“Right here,” Methos said. “How complicated is complicated?”

“Very,” Connor said. “I came across an old friend.”

Duncan raised his eyebrows at Methos, who gave him a knowing look back. “And?”

“I think she’s got A Priori Syndrome.”

Methos sucked in a breath. “That is complicated.”

Duncan gave him a sharp look. “A Priori Syndrome?” he asked. “What is that? I’ve never heard of it.”

Methos gave him a hand motion to hold his questions in for a moment. “Connor, you know it isn’t safe. You need to get away.”

Duncan clutched at the counter, and grabbed at Methos’ upper arm. He gave him a stern look, and hissed, “Explain!” 

“Calm down, Duncan. It’s been a week, and I’m fine,” Connor said. “Adam, there must be something that can be done. This is Rebelda. I think you know her, too. She’s a good friend.”

Methos closed his eyes and looked away. “You know there’s not. The risk is yours, if you want to take it.”

“There must be something!” Connor said. “Anything!”

“If there is, I don’t know it.”

“Connor, do we need to come out sooner?” Duncan asked. “Our flight is next week, but I can be there today, if you need me.” He stared hard at Methos, and tried to figure out what information he was missing. He’d heard the name Rebelda before. She was an Immortal, and a friend of Connor’s for at least the last hundred years, probably longer. Duncan hadn’t met her, but he’d heard stories. Whatever had happened to her, he knew that she was a friend, and she deserved help. Plus, he was worried about Connor. The way Methos spoke, it sounded as if Connor was in some extreme danger. 

“You aren’t going there!” Methos said, blanching. “Connor shouldn’t be near her either!” An angry color suffused him. “Connor, listen to what Duncan just said. You might put yourself in harm’s way, but you wouldn’t risk Duncan. You know how stubborn--"

“Hey!” 

“—he is. He won’t leave this alone.”

“I want to know what this syndrome is. Now!” Duncan demanded. 

“It’s a form of amnesia,” Connor said. “She’s forgotten who she is.”

“Amnesia?” Duncan said. “Does she think you’re an enemy? Is she after your head?”

“No, she’s not. I’ve been training her this week. We’ve gotten along very well.” There was a hint of reticence in Connor’s voice and Duncan could hear that he wasn’t yet being told everything. 

“So what’s the danger?” Duncan asked. 

Methos covered his face with one hand. “It’s catching,” he said. 

“What’s catching?” Duncan asked, not understanding. It was unusual for an Immortal to have amnesia, but it had happened. Duncan could think of several times that he’d dealt with the situation, and he’d even had a few instances in his own life where he’d rather not have known of certain awful pieces of information. The mind played tricks, and the Immortal mind wasn’t immune. 

“The amnesia is catching,” Methos said. “Meaning that if Rebelda has the syndrome, then Connor might catch it from her.”

“Immortals don’t get diseases like that,” Duncan said, trying to grasp what Methos had told him. It certainly seemed important and terrible to Methos, the way he looked sickened. “We might get a cold, you know that. But we don’t stay sick. How do you _catch_ amnesia. It isn’t a communicable disease!”

“This is. For Immortals,” Methos said. 

“I’m fine,” Connor said on the phone. “I’ve been fine all week. And just because I think it’s A Priori, doesn’t mean it is.”

Duncan glared at Methos. “How dangerous is this? Tell me everything. How do you know about it?”

Methos sighed. He turned to face the phone. “Why do you think it’s A Priori?”

“Just the way she’s forgotten things. She knows several languages, some history, kept her muscle memory, but has forgotten her own history, and knows nothing of Immortals. She had a student, and I’ve searched for him, but he wasn’t at the last location where I knew Rebelda was living. There was evidence of a Quickening, so I believe either he or someone else is dead. She was living near an old churchyard.”

“And the Quickening was near Holy Ground,” Methos said, and it wasn’t a question.

“Yes.”

“Near?” Duncan asked. “Or on?”

“Near enough,” Connor replied. 

“Sounds like A Priori. Connor, you know this is dangerous. You need to send her away. Or get away yourself. If she remembered who she was, she’d tell you the same.”

“I won’t abandon her,” Connor said. 

“Connor, we’re coming out to help you,” Duncan said even as Methos raised his arms and waved them in front of him, nixing that idea. “If you’re safe for now, we’ll keep the flight next week, and we’ll stay as long as you need us.”

“Bad idea,” Methos said. “Do you want amnesia? Do you want _me_ to catch amnesia?”

That thought brought Duncan up short. He didn’t want to put Methos in danger, but Connor seemed to be committed to his course of action, and there really wasn’t any other choice. They had to help Connor’s friend. “You can stay at a hotel near the airport,” he said. “But I’m going.” Duncan put his hands on his hips. “And you haven’t explained how amnesia can be transferred.”

“We don’t know how. It just happens,” Methos said. He put a hand on Duncan’s forearm, calming the situation, and Duncan smiled briefly and put his other hand on top of Methos’. “Immortals don’t catch colds like regular people,” he said. “And this is very, very rare. It doesn’t happen often at all. But it is serious. Nobody knows how or why it seems to transfer from Immortal to Immortal, but it does. Once someone has the amnesia, they are always a carrier. _If_ they survive, they start from scratch, building new memories, and a new sense of identity. But they’re as vulnerable as a new Immortal, and must learn to fight again. And you know how we all have enemies. Those that would hunt us down.”

Duncan pressed his hand more firmly against Methos’ own. “And once Immortals know there is a threat, they go after that person.”

“Yes,” Methos said. “Because we fear contagion, just as humans fear biological plagues. This is an Immortal plague.”

Duncan took a moment to absorb the information. The knot of apprehension in his gut was still there. Connor was in danger, but he was calling for assistance, and Duncan couldn’t turn away. No matter how risky. But it was Duncan’s choice to put himself in danger, just as it was Connor’s. He wouldn’t do the same with Methos. “You’re right,” he said. “You stay home.”

Methos frowned. “We stay home,” he corrected. 

“I’ll help Connor.”

“Don’t be an idiot,” Methos said. “If you’re going, I’m going.”

Duncan smiled, and Methos rolled his eyes. “We’ll be there next Wednesday, Connor,” Duncan said. “Unless you need us sooner.”

“That’s fine,” Connor said stiffly. “Come if you feel you need to, Duncan, but Adam is right. It is safer for you to stay away. Adam, I only wanted to see if you knew anything about the syndrome. Something that could help.”

“Nothing,” Adam said. “But I’ll look into it. I’ll do a little research. Maybe something has come to light since the last time I heard of it happening.”

“Thank you,” Connor said. 

“We’ll see you in a week,” Duncan said. 

“And be careful,” Methos added. “If we come out there, we want to visit you. Not you with permanent amnesia.”

Connor chuckled and disconnected the phone. 

***** 

A week later, at the airport, Duncan was transporting their bags while Methos parked the car, and he spotted a familiar face. He stopped to let the man catch up to him. 

“Hi, Joe,” Duncan said. He looked around. “You could have called.”

“They’ve got your phones tapped,” Joe said. “And I’m District Supervisor now, not your Watcher, so by the time these things filter over to me, I’m drowning in paperwork.”

“Your point?” Duncan asked. Things had been tense between he and Joe ever since Joe had stopped being his Watcher. Duncan didn’t like his replacement, and in fact, didn’t think he needed a Watcher at all. Methos and Joe were still close, though, and Duncan thought that perhaps Methos kept him abreast of their activities. 

“A Priori,” Joe said. “You and Adam shouldn’t go anywhere near it.”

“Thanks for your concern, Joe.” Duncan started moving again, but the Watcher dogged his steps. 

“Come on, Mac,” Joe said. “This is Adam we’re talking about. Maybe nothing can get through your thick skull, but what if Adam gets amnesia. Do you really want to lose all that? Lose him? What he is?”

“Adam looked into it, and the transference rate is a lot less common than he thought. It’s not going to be a problem.” Duncan paused and Joe stopped with him. They looked at each other, and Duncan thought that Joe was starting to look a lot older. Worn and tired, and far more gray than Duncan remembered. Time had a way of sliding past him. “I’m not going to let Adam come to harm,” he said. “And I’m not planning on catching it. We’ll take precautions.”

“Be sure that you do,” Joe muttered, and ran a hand through his hair. “A Priori isn’t anything to fool around with. The last time there was an occurrence, six Immortals lost their memories before they were all killed and it stopped. Six.”

Duncan startled to hear that. 

“Adam didn’t tell you that?” Joe said. “I’m surprised.”

“He said that most incidents didn’t even have a transference once.”

“Because as soon as anyone knows what it is, they behead the poor bastard,” Joe said grimly. “Did you talk with him about what you were getting into?”

“We’ve been busy getting ready,” Duncan said. “We’d planned to discuss it on the flight over.”

“Make sure you do,” Joe said. He started to walk away, and then threw his last words over his shoulder. “See you in New York.”

Duncan grinned. Joe Dawson wasn’t abandoning them, either. 

***** 

“I saw Joe,” Methos commented after they were belted in and the plane was taxiing for take-off. 

“I thought you might,” Duncan said. 

“Did he tell you how stupid this idea of yours is? That we’re walking right into trouble, and will probably lose all our senses, and forget our names, and have to be spoon-fed?”

“No,” Duncan said. “He invited me to his Christmas Party this year. Asked if we could bring the eggnog.”

Methos switched tactics just as easily. “And that fennel dish that he loves.”

Duncan waited a beat, then said. “And he did mention he thought we weren’t particularly bright to go anywhere near this issue. He said the last time that six Immortals contracted amnesia, and were all killed.”

Methos was quietly somber for a long time. Finally he spoke. “I told you. It is bad. The problem is, no one understands how it is transmitted.”

“Or where it comes from?”

“We believe we know that answer,” Methos said. He was speaking in a hushed tone, and leaned his head over so that his mouth was brushing against Duncan’s ear. “For the accounts recorded, it was a Quickening half on Holy Ground, and half not.”

“Half?” Duncan asked, even as he parsed the particular phrasing that Methos had chosen. “And accounts recorded?”

Methos shrugged, and kept his voice low. “We only have two accounts from beginning to end. Both began with challenges just outside of Holy Ground. Both times, one Immortal was seeking refuge on Holy Ground, but hadn’t quite made it when they were engaged, and a fight ensued. You know how things tend to be. Fights aren’t contained. They roam about a bit. Nobody pays heed to the ground they’re on.”

“So how is it _half_ on Holy Ground?” Duncan asked. 

“Fences, MacLeod,” Methos said. “Stone walls, boundary lines. Windows. All of that. On one side, it’s Holy Ground, and on the other it isn’t. One of the fights ended at one of those stone walls that ring around a churchyard, and the challenge ended outside, but the body fell onto the wall. Quickening ensued. And so did amnesia. That’s the one where it transmitted through five more people before finally everyone was dead. For sure, the amnesia wasn’t caught from taking the Quickening of an Immortal with it. The Watchers have documented proof of that.”

Duncan stared at Methos in horror. “So that’s the only cure? To be killed?”

“As it stands now, yes.”

“Hasn’t anyone even tried?”

“They’ve tried,” Methos said. “Do you think Connor is the first person to actually care about what happens to someone with this? No. He isn’t.”

“How long?” Duncan asked. “How long before you would get infected?”

Methos gave a sharp, bitter laugh. “Limited data on that. But it can be anywhere from a few days to months to even years. Which is why we don’t understand the mechanism of transfer.”

Duncan latched onto that. “You mean there have been years between infections?”

Methos nodded. “The other example we know of. The first time it happened that we’re aware of. At a priory.” He smirked. 

“Hence the name of the syndrome,” Duncan guessed. “A little word play.”

“Two Immortals. Teacher and student. Living and working at the priory. The student went off Holy Ground. Possibly lured. We don’t know the circumstances for sure. There was a challenge, and the student actually won, but again, the body fell across the boundary line between Holy Ground and non, and the student contracted amnesia. The teacher found him, and brought him back to the priory, and kept him on Holy Ground strictly for nearly a decade. But eventually, the others questioned how the pair of them didn’t age, and the teacher decided to leave, taking his student with him. They weren’t out of the priory a month before the teacher had amnesia too, and then they were both challenged, and lost. Without their memories, they didn’t know how to defend themselves.” 

“So, Holy Ground is the answer,” Duncan said. “We just need to get Rebelda to safety.”

“Maybe,” Methos said. “Something about Holy Ground kept the amnesia from transferring. But it was tried. The instance with the six infected Immortals? The last one caught the amnesia _while_ on Holy Ground. They thought that it would also protect them, but it didn’t.”

“How long did that take?”

“A few months,” Methos said. “It seemed to only postpone the inevitable.”

“There has to be an answer that doesn’t involve taking someone’s head,” Duncan said. “We’ve got to find it.”

“Or else?” Methos said. “Does knowing all this change your mind? Would you turn away?”

“No,” Duncan said. “Does Connor know all this?”

“Yes,” Methos said. “He knows.”

***** 

 

Joe took another sip of his coffee, which had grown cold, but he didn’t mind it that way. He still had another hour on watch, but he was glad to see the next on-duty Watcher come in early. “Hey, Judy,” he said as she passed him and went to the counter. 

“Hiya, Joe,” she said. She purchased two coffees and swung back over, easily sliding one fresh cup in front of Joe while she threw the cold one away. “Long day?” she asked. 

“They all are,” he said. 

“We’re both too old for this field work,” she said. She patted down her silver hair with a self-effacing smile. 

“Not a lot of people I trust for this assignment,” Joe said. He’d taken the first week of shifts on his own. It was three days before he’d admitted that he couldn’t do it by himself. Not anymore. Not when he had to follow the actions of four different Immortals. 

“Just me and Maria,” she said. “And we’re both technically retired.”

“If I weren’t a supervisor, I’d be retired,” Joe said. He sipped the coffee. It was hot and good, strong the way he liked it. “And it’s a delicate situation.” He’d had to do some fast talking to get the regional director to agree to let him take care of the coordination and to choose his own operatives. Mentioning A Priori Syndrome had made everyone as jumpy as cats in a roomful of tacks, though, so he’d pretty much been able to bully his way through the set-up. 

He had kept on Duncan’s Watcher, who also doubled for Methos, and Connor’s Watcher, who hadn’t recognized the signs of the syndrome and was chagrined. They were both acting independently still, which was good. Joe had faith in both of them. They were hand-picked by him and did their jobs well, and with an eye to discretion as Joe saw it. 

He knew MacLeod didn't particularly like his Watcher, but Joe figured it was a matter of time yet. MacLeod was just disgruntled and feeling that Joe had abandoned him.

Rebelda’s Watcher was around somewhere, having flown in a few days after Connor had found Rebelda. Joe didn’t know her very well, and he hoped that wouldn’t be a problem. 

Judy and Maria he had called in to assist, and he trusted them both. They’d all gone through the Watcher Academy together and worked innumerable long shifts early in their careers before they’d been assigned single Immortals to Watch. He knew he could count on them. 

“Joe,” Judy said, slowly, “How long do you expect us to maintain this watch? You know as well as I do that A Priori can take months or years to transmit. Not that I’m complaining.” She smiled. “I like being out in the field again.”

Joe ran a hand through his hair as he decided on his answer. His gut was telling him that he’d dedicate as many personnel as he could get for as long as he could get it, because this was Methos and Mac. If anyone was important to the Game, those two were. Add in Connor MacLeod, and it was a perfect storm. Not to mention that they were his friends, and Joe was going to be there, ready, for whatever came along. “At least for a while,” he finally settled on. “A few weeks, at least. A month or two.” He leaned forward. “The tipping point will be if others come looking to challenge Rebelda, to eliminate the danger of the syndrome and…infection.”

Judy nodded. “And you think it’ll happen in a few weeks or months?”

Joe nodded. “Word is spreading through the Immortal world. They’ll be coming here to challenge her.”

“And both MacLeods and Pierson will stand in their way,” Judy said. She sighed. “Pierson may be MacLeod’s protégé and,” she paused and smiled conspiratorially, “his special friend, but he’s bitten off a lot to chew on this one.”

“He’ll be okay. I hope.” Joe sipped his coffee. “You’ve noticed that they’re training nearly constantly now.”

“Makes it easy to know where they are, but hard to Watch,” Judy said. “They’re inside all day, so we can’t see them. But at least we know where they are.”

Joe took another sip of coffee to hide any facial expression he might have that would give him away. Methos had been e-mailing him and keeping him abreast of their activities, although sporadically. It was one of the few things that kept Joe from going insane with worry, knowing at least what their intentions were. And for the moment, it seemed that getting Rebelda up to speed with her sword-work was the key. “Yes,” Joe said, and left it at that. 

***** 

“Sore?” Methos asked. He was resting in bed, with four pillows propped behind his head.

Duncan rotated his shoulder, evaluating it. “A little. It’s one thing to practice, it’s another to be practiced upon.”

Methos put a hand over his ribs and winced, even though Duncan knew the mishap should have been long-healed. “Understood.” Methos paused, then went on. “By next week we should be able to move up to bladed weapons.”

“I hope so. She’s got the muscle memory, just not the integrated memories to go with that. So we’ve been able to progress very quickly.” He kneaded the upper portion of his arm just before the shoulder. “Then we’ll be in for it. If we’re this tired and injured after just going through standing and grappling maneuvers. Can you imagine?”

“We’ll go and get some old clothes,” Methos suggested. “So when she shreds them, we won’t care.”

“I’ll care!” Duncan said. “It won’t just be the clothes that get shredded when she starts in on sword work.”

Methos made a face. “If we took more time, we wouldn’t all be taking such a beating. Did you see how she clonked Connor in the face today with her elbow? I’m surprised he kept all his teeth.”

“If we take more time, we’ll all be in danger. Or dead,” Duncan said. “You know they’re coming. Word’s already out there, and Immortals panic just as much as humans do when there’s a threat. They’ll be coming for her, and if they have to go through us, they will.” Duncan closed his eyes, trying to push away the feeling of dread. “The three of us are good, but it only takes someone getting lucky. I don’t want to lose you, or Connor.”

“We don’t want to lose you,” Methos said softly. He looked down at his hands and then up again. “We should leave a little gas in the tank, so to speak, these next few days. Make sure we’re ready, for when uninvited guests stop by. I think our window of safety has closed. We should expect the others to start coming now.”

“Agreed,” Duncan said. He rolled his shoulder again, happier that it was loose again and the stiffness was going away. Duncan stripped off his shirt. “A hot shower should take care of this,” he said. 

Across the room, Methos picked up his head and stared at Duncan as he moved into the bathroom, and then trailed after him. He pulled off one sock and then the other, crossed his arms and stretched to remove his shirt, tapped his fingers at his waist to loosen his jeans before kicking them off. Nearly naked, he snaked in behind Duncan, and Duncan smiled at him. "Was that little show for me?" he asked, with a heavy dose of fake innocence. 

"I thought you were going to take a shower," Methos murmured, even as he wrapped his arms around Duncan's torso. His fingers glided low, rubbing over muscle and juts of hip-bone. 

"Oh, I am, and I suspect you'll have need of one also," Duncan said. He pressed himself against Methos, skin to skin, and heat to heat. "Come on," he said, and tugged Methos into the shower stall. He kissed a line from Methos' shoulder to a spot below his ear, and then paused there to nuzzle. He could smell Methos, on his skin and in his hair that curled a bit long these days. 

Methos had buried his own head into the crook of Duncan's shoulder and neck, and was making low-throated guttural noises. His hands fluttered wide, then narrow, and ran up the inside of Duncan's legs, teasingly close, and then away again. 

"Methos," Duncan warned. 

Methos reached out a hand and snagged the bar of soap. "Turn on the water, MacLeod. Or else."

"My pleasure," Duncan said, and he pressed Methos back against the wall of the shower stall, trapping him. With one free hand he manipulated the water controls as he bent his head in and captured Methos in a kiss. The water was cold for a moment along his back and then it grew warm. Methos broke the kiss to rub the side of his face along Duncan's jaw line.

Duncan decided he was not going to suffer any more, nor wait until all of Connor's hot water tank was spent. Putting his hands on Methos' shoulders he attempted to twist him around, but Methos resisted. 

"Prudence," Methos muttered, sinking low, his back still against the wall. "And patience." 

Then, the heat of the shower, the warm water washing over him, and the attentions in front of him, made Duncan forget about anything at all of lesser consequence. 

 

***** 

“Good. Now turn your foot out more,” Connor instructed. “Yes, like that.” He eyed Rebelda’s stance critically and nodded. “Good. Now, we’re going to focus on footwork.”

As he continued to instruct her in the finer details of the necessary movements, Connor allowed himself a tiny flare of hope. Even with her memory gone, Rebelda’s body knew what it was doing. It was only when she let her mind intrude that she became momentarily awkward. Of course, fighting meant having both mind and body act as one. There could be no disconnect there. 

He also knew they were running out of time. Hunters would be coming for her, and sooner rather than later. They could only hole up inside his building for so long before there was some mistake or slip. Rebelda couldn’t hide forever. His building wasn’t meant to be a fortress, but a home, and a place of respite. It offered security, but not ultimate safety. 

He briefly considered if they shouldn’t have retreated to Holy Ground. 

But, that would have been a temporary solution. There would have been nothing to keep another Immortal from dragging Rebelda off the sanctuary of Holy Ground and then taking her head. 

No, she needed skills to protect herself. Well, he amended, the skills were there in her muscle memory. She just needed to make those mind-body connections to them again. 

Presence zinged down his spine and Rebelda put a hand to her head. He frowned at her. “We spoke about that,” he said. “It’s a tell. You won’t hide in a crowd if you do that. And it is a distraction. You must recognize the presence, and then continue on as if it were nothing.”

“I understand,” she said. For a moment a fierce expression blazed on her face, to be replaced by a calmer one, and Connor felt a tug of pride. She was tough, and she was learning fast. If anyone could survive a bout of A Priori, it was Rebelda. Her personality was still the same, even if her memories weren't.

Duncan and Adam closed the door to the _salle_ behind them and came over. 

Connor straightened up and gave Duncan a nod. “She’s ready,” he said. “After lunch, we can start with live blades.”

“Good,” Adam said. He eyed her up and down. “Do we have her sword?”

“No,” Connor said. “It’s been…misplaced.”

“I’ll find something that will fit her build then, and we’ll go from there,” Adam said. He turned his full attention on her. “You’ll work with all of us, but I’ll start you off with some basic drills.”

“And now it is time to work on meditation and focus,” Duncan said. He motioned for Rebelda to join him on the mats in the corner. “And perhaps some balance.”

Connor grinned and gave her a mock salute. “We’ll do more footwork tomorrow morning then.” He moved alongside Adam and Duncan took Rebelda away to work with her. 

“It takes three of us to train her,” Adam remarked. “And only one of her to learn.”

“She’s doing a good job,” Connor said. “It’s a lot to take in. I wonder if any of the three of us would do as well.”

Adam sighed. “Let’s hope we don’t have to find out.”

***** 

“How was the session?” Duncan asked. They were in the kitchen, and Duncan was chopping onions. 

“Fine. She did well. Considering.” Methos hunted through the spice rack. “Only one or two mishaps.”

“Mishaps?” Duncan asked. He stopped chopping and stared at Methos. 

Methos laughed and held up his hands. He wiggled all his fingers. “Nothing is missing, MacLeod. Connor came by and tried to help this afternoon, and it was one of those too many cooks spoils the soup sort of thing. He and I both got a dose of our own good intentions.” He laughed, and then peered back again into the recesses of the spice rack. “Doesn’t Connor believe in anything other than salt and pepper?”

Duncan snorted. 

Methos finally found what he was looking for. “A-ha!” He put it down on the counter near the chopping board. “Use that. Cumin. It makes everything taste good.”

“It makes everything taste like curry,” Duncan said. 

“Which is good,” Methos countered. “I remember years ago….” He stopped and frowned, then waved a hand. “It doesn’t matter. It’s good stuff.”

“Are you trying to tell me to make a curry for dinner?” Duncan asked. “Instead of a casserole?”

“It wouldn’t hurt.”

“Fine.” Duncan waved at the spice rack with the point of his knife. “Find the coriander and some turmeric, and cayenne pepper. And garam marsala, if Connor has any.” Duncan sighed. “You’d better add ginger to that list. I doubt he’s got any fresh root.” Then he shook his head. “And you’ll have to put up with plain white rice. I doubt Connor stocks basmati.”

Methos grinned. “Any curry is better than no curry,” he said, and went looking for the needed items. 

*****

Duncan woke slowly in the dark the next morning. Groggily he reached a hand for the other side of the bed, and found it cold and empty. He frowned. That was unusual. Methos tended to sleep late whenever he could and Connor was supposed to teach Rebelda this morning, so there was no reason for him to be up. Of course, that all went out the window if Methos was reading a captivating book, or chatting on the internet, or had the sudden urge to figure out a previously impossible chess move. Then, Methos needed no sleep, and would remain focused until he eventually ran out of steam, or interest. Usually the latter. 

Duncan yawned and rubbed at his face. He supposed he should find out what was going on, and check in on Connor and Rebelda. 

He showered, dressed, and made his way to the kitchen. Rebelda was there sipping coffee. She smiled at him. “Did you forget me?” she asked. 

“I thought Connor had teaching plans for you this morning,” Duncan said as he poured himself a cup of coffee. 

Rebelda shrugged. “I did too, but I didn’t see him, and I was waiting. Then you came down, so I thought I’d been confused, and you were teaching this morning.”

A frission of worry spiked through Duncan. He put down his coffee. “Adam got up early also,” he said, although it felt more serious all of a sudden. “I’ll check on Connor.” He turned, with Rebelda at his heels, and walked to Connor’s door. He knocked and waited. 

There was a rustling noise, and low guttural rumblings, and Duncan strained his hearing. “Connor?” he called out. “Are you awake?” He banged on the door again. 

Suddenly the door swung wide open and Connor was there, sword in hand and at the ready, pointed at Duncan’s throat. “I don’t know what you’re on about,” he said, “but either explain yourself, or leave swiftly.” To Duncan’s ear, his voice was strongly tinted with the accent of home, of Scotland, and Duncan’s heart pounded in his chest. He backed away from the point of the sword and held his hands up.

“Connor, what’s happened?” he asked. “You were supposed to teach this morning. What happened?”

“Teach?” Connor asked. “And how do you know me?”

“We’re kin!” Duncan said, desperately. “I’m Duncan MacLeod, of the Clan MacLeod. You’re Connor MacLeod. We’re distant cousins.”

“I don’t know you.” Connor stared at him and then nodded and let the sword drop. “But I think you’ve much to explain.” He put a hand to his head. “There’s an odd feeling in my head this morning, and I suspect you know why that is.” 

Duncan glanced back at Rebelda, who looked as horror stricken as he felt, and realized that the worst had come to happen. He still hadn’t found Methos, but Connor needed his attention now, and he hoped Methos was fine. 

***** 

“I told you this would happen!” Joe spat at the phone in his hand. “You shouldn’t have gone near her!”

“I know, Joe. But it’s happened. And I need that research now. All the paperwork on all the previous times this happened. Something has to reverse it. Something.”

“I’ll get it to you as soon as I can,” Joe said. “What does Adam say about it?” There was an odd silence on the other end of the phone that Joe didn’t like. “Mac?”

“Adam doesn’t have anything to say about it. I haven’t told him yet.”

“What do you mean?” Joe asked suspiciously. 

“I’m not sure where Adam is, actually,” MacLeod said. “He was gone when I woke up this morning and I haven’t seen him since.” There was a pause. “Did any of your people see when he left this morning?”

“He hasn’t left,” Joe ground out. He should know, he’d been up since midnight, on watch. If Methos left the building, Joe didn’t know about it. “I suppose he could have snuck out,” he said. “He would know we’re watching.”

“Maybe,” Mac said. “I’m a little worried, to be honest. But I can’t leave Connor yet.”

“Mac, maybe you want to consider Holy Ground now. You’ve got two Immortals without their memories.”

“That’s just it, though,” MacLeod said. “Connor hasn’t forgotten everything. Not entirely. He’s comfortable with a sword. It looks like he’s just forgotten the past couple hundred years. Not all of it. He remembers his clan, and becoming Immortal even. He remembers more than Rebelda did.”

“Interesting,” Joe said. “So, perhaps not entirely infected?”

“Right. And if it can be partial, then it can be undone. I need to find a way to make that happen.” Mac sighed. “And I need to find it fast. Otherwise we’ll have to hide on Holy Ground. Which could be just as dangerous. We’re safe inside here for the moment. Joe, I have to go. Get me that research, please. And if you find out where Adam is, let me know.”

“Of course,” Joe said. “Although it isn’t like Adam to not tell you where he’s going. Not when so much is at stake.”

“I know,” Mac said. “And I’m trying not to worry since I can’t do anything about it right this moment.”

Joe heard the soft click that signaled the connection had been cut and he stifled the urge to groan out loud. All he really wanted to do was go and start yelling, perhaps hit a few shins with his cane, or punch a few noses. He suspected he'd feel a hell of a lot better if there could be someone to focus his anger at, rather than the sickened twist in his gut as he wondered where Methos was, and how MacLeod expected to take care of two amnesiac Immortals at the same time. 

***** 

Connor looked around the _salle_. He remembered training with Ramirez, but it had been outside, using the natural world as their training grounds. They hadn’t had one of these fancy training rooms. 

The woman, Rebelda, was on the other side of the room, practicing some forms. Connor watched her for a few minutes, and then went back to his own study of the things in the room. He noticed an odd faint, thin line running along the seam of the wainscoting, and then suddenly he realized it was a door set at the far end, mostly camouflaged into the wall, and wondered where it went. He glanced at Rebelda. She was busy and wasn’t paying attention to him. 

He pushed at the corners of the door until it suddenly swung in. It was dark inside the corridor, and Connor went in carefully, and shut the door closed behind him. There was a faint light at the end of the corridor, and he crept along carefully. Duncan, his supposed cousin, had told him that he owned this entire building, and that he lived here. Duncan had told him a lot of things, about the world and the future, and about the woman, Rebelda, and a disease that he’d caught from her. It made some sense to him, but there was a lot about it that he was waiting to fully understand. 

The corridor opened into a spare, utilitarian room. There was a desk and a chair, with a computer on it, and several trunks in the room. One was open, and revealed a small cache of weapons. A man with dark hair was standing near the trunk, a sword in hand, although it was pointed low.

“Hello, Connor,” he said. 

“Matthias,” Connor said. “I thought you were dead.”

“Not quite. But I do have to wonder what you’re doing here. Just as much as I’ve been wondering what I’m doing here.” The slant of his shoulders was casual, but Connor could see the keenness in his eyes. 

“I’m told,” Connor said, debating what to reveal or not, and deciding to be blunt, “that I have a particular kind of amnesia and have forgotten a few hundred years. This by a man claiming to be of my clan.” As he said it, he realized that he actually believed it. He'd been turning the information over all morning, poking and prodding at it. Now he felt more sure it was the truth, and he thought perhaps he should panic a bit at the situation. But with Matthias here, Connor felt a little steadier. If Matthias weren't dead, then amnesia wouldn't be permanent either. A flare of emotion stuttered to life that Connor had thought long smothered. 

Matthias snorted, but his gaze sharpened. “It would make sense,” he said. “I woke this morning, and it felt as if my brains had been scrambled.” He put a hand to his head. “I’ve had a splitting headache all day, trying to recall things I feel I must know but do not.”

Connor nodded in sympathy. He walked forward, and put a hand to Matthias’ brow. “You should rest, then. And we can speak with my newfound cousin. He seems to know about these matters.”

Matthias reached out a hand in reply and curled it around Connor’s neck. “Indeed,” he said. "Perhaps that rest can wait."

Connor shifted forward, that previous flame of emotion catching, starting to burn again. "I thought you dead and gone. I mourned your loss." He braced his arms on either side of Matthias. "And I blamed myself for letting you go."

Matthias brought his other hand up so that he had light fingertips cupping both sides of Connor's neck. He began to rub ever so slowly in the crease at the base of his head, massaging tenderly. "I had...considerations. I couldn't return to you. Though it was difficult to leave you behind," he said. "I...missed you."

"Did you yearn for me?" Connor asked. "Were your dreams of me?" He moved in closer, straddling one of Matthias' thighs. Matthias made a noise far back in his throat and it spurred Connor to more boldness. He bent his own arms under Matthias, so that he was cradled against him, but in a position of control. He wrapped his hands around Matthias' neck in a parody of the position he still held on Connor. 

"Yes," Matthias said, and he closed his eyes, slightly slumping into Connor's hold. He lifted his thigh ever so slightly and Connor 's pulse ratcheted up several notches. "Yes," Matthias said again. "I always knew I would find you again some day."

"And now you have," Connor said. "I intend to make the most of it." Matthias had always been like quicksilver to Connor, speaking in riddles and half-truths, never telling him an entire tale, but only the parts he deemed important. But that was then. Connor had learned and grown in the time apart, and he thought that Matthias might find himself well matched now. 

Matthias' eyes were slit open now and he was considering Connor. His hands finally moved away from Connor's neck, and down to his shoulders, and then down again to finally rest at Connor's hips. It was an opening, and he was giving it to Connor. "Show me what you've learned then," he whispered. 

Connor bared his teeth, hungry and flushed with desire built over too long a time, and moved in to do just that. When he was done, Matthias' would find it hard indeed to ever leave him again. 

***** 

Duncan hung up the phone. He was feeling like he'd woken into a nightmare. 

Talking to Joe had only increased the knot of worry in his gut. Methos was nowhere to be found and that made him want to punch walls. Connor had the syndrome now, and that was a bottomless pit for worry as well. It was dangerously infectious, as he’d been told. But he’d hoped that they could have somehow avoided it. Not that he could have made any other choice. With his friends and family in danger, Duncan would never shirk his duty to them. The only thing that gave him hope was that Connor didn’t seem to have lost all his memories. Not like Rebelda had. It meant that Duncan didn’t have to start from scratch to train him to fight. Connor already knew how to protect himself. He was without some more recent training and strategies, but those could be relearned. Connor wasn’t a sitting duck in the way Rebelda had been, and that at least meant Duncan didn’t have to worry he’d been challenged and killed outright. He still had to be concerned with stronger opponents, but that was a constant in the life of an Immortal, and one Duncan had grappled with all his life. 

Now he had to deal with the missing time—convincing Connor that Duncan was his ally, and teaching him about the modern world. If any unmentioned, secret enemies came calling in the meantime, at least Duncan would be here to deal with them. 

Duncan turned and went down to the _salle_. Rebelda was there, alone, stretching in a corner. She looked up as Duncan approached. 

“Where’s Connor?” Duncan asked. 

“Went that way,” Rebelda pointed. She looked very somber, as she had since learning that her condition had been passed on. “I tried talking to him, but he didn’t remember.” She shuddered. “Is that what happened to me?”

Duncan put a hand on her arm. “It’s awful, but yes. I’m doing everything I can to work on the problem, though. We’ll get your memories back, and Connor’s, or we’ll keep training you until you have new memories. Either way, you’re going to be okay.”

Rebelda nodded, but then she looked away. “I didn’t mean to give it to him. I never meant for anyone to get this….”

“I know. It wasn’t on purpose.” Duncan sighed. “If you can think of anything that did happen. How it happened, that could help.”

Rebelda nodded. “I’ll try,” she said. 

“Good,” Duncan said, and turned his head. “That way?” he asked. 

“Yeah, he sort of was over near the wall.”

Duncan frowned at that. There was a door over by the wall that lead to some access space that Connor tended to keep discreet. Either he remembered it, or had discovered it by accident. The door wasn’t really hidden, but it was made minimally observable. Trust his cousin to find it right away. Duncan wasn’t sure entirely what was back there, but he hoped there was nothing dangerous or disturbing. He didn’t know if finding journals or photos of forgotten times would cause distress or not. 

He went over to the door and pushed it open, and cautiously went through. 

***** 

Connor heard the footsteps a moment before Duncan was on top of them. Matthias shoved him away, and Connor could feel the cold air instantly along his front where the burning heat of Matthias' body had been. "Wait!" he said, because he could feel Matthias prepare to strike, and Duncan looked like he'd already been hit with a hammer to the head. 

His eyes were wide, nearly popping, and his mouth was hanging open. He was staring at them and breathing hard, as if the walk down the hallway had been the length of a marathon. Duncan, wild-eyed, looked at Connor and then to Matthias. 

Connor had been told Duncan and he were close, but he'd only really just met the man. Duncan's reactions didn't mean anything more to him than a stranger's would, but it wasn't hard to deduce that something had drastically affected him. "Duncan?" he asked. 

"What?" Duncan ground out the words. "Why?" he asked. His attention swiveled from Connor to Matthias. 

Matthias looked to Connor and raised an eyebrow. "Connor, is this the man you spoke of?" he asked. 

All the air in Duncan seemed to escape and he sagged. "No," he said, faintly. It was more to himself, a painful exhalation and denial, and obviously not an answer to Matthias' question. It wasn't hard for Connor to put all the pieces together. 

"Yes," said Connor. "Duncan MacLeod. This is Matthias. I assume that you also know him. And that he has also now suffered the same memory loss that you advised me of."

"Matthias?" Duncan repeated. "Is that your name?" His attention was solely for Matthias. 

"Yes."

Connor watched as Duncan composed himself. He blinked and his spine stiffened. He straightened entirely, and his shoulders shifted back. "You've forgotten me," he said, the words controlled and flattened. "I'm Duncan. Duncan MacLeod. I'm a friend."

Matthias inclined his head, and that keen gaze of his settled on Duncan. "Given the situation, I believe we have much to discuss."

"Yes," Duncan said. He motioned to the hallway. "If you'd follow me. We can...we could...brew some coffee. Talk."

Connor moved to put a hand on Duncan's shoulder. "An excellent idea."

Duncan nodded once, and tore his attention away from Matthias. "The kitchen is this way," he said, and strode back the way he'd come. 

***** 

The coffee was good. Methos gave him that. Beyond that, everything was strange. 

The hidden room he had met Connor in had been built out of unfamiliar materials, and some of the contents had been truly alien. Now he was in another room, a kitchen that looked entirely unlike any kitchen he had ever known, and drinking an amazing concoction that had come out of gurgling pot. 

Yet still, there were familiar elements. There was a table, and chairs, and people sitting in them discussing subjects of great importance. This, Methos understood. 

As well he also understood that he had lost his memory, and this displeased him. His memory was his greatest asset. Knowledge gave him an edge, and to have that edge dulled meant he was vulnerable. 

So he was paying great attention both to what was being spoken around the table, and to the body language. 

"You are telling us that all three of us have lost our memories, and that only you remain with your full faculties," Methos repeated, after Duncan had gotten done telling the long story from his perspective. 

"Yes," Duncan said. Everything about his body language told Methos that the man believed what he was telling them. It only remained to find out if what he believed were actually the truth. Methos had no reason to doubt it, but he kept his mind open, just in case. Such reserve had usually served him well. 

"What now?" Connor asked. "How do you plan to deal with this?"

"I think we just need to stay here," Duncan said. "Keep training. It doesn't change the situation. All three of you need to be able to fight in case you are challenged. And learn about the modern world. We can do that here. A week or two, perhaps three, and we can reevaluate, see where we stand. "

"I need the most help," Rebelda said. "At least the two of you remember how to fight."

"Indeed," Methos said. This handicap was not tremendous--he would have been much worse off if he had forgotten all he knew about sword work--but still, he imagined he must have forgotten many valuable skills. "I agree to this plan. For now."

"I do also," Connor said. "A few weeks is nothing, and it may help prepare us. Or perhaps our memories will return."

"It's never been known to happen," Methos said. "I have heard of this affliction before."

"I find it curious," Duncan said, "that you and Connor only lost some of your memories. It isn't the typical pattern."

"But how?" Connor asked. 

Duncan turned to Rebelda. "Only you remember what you were doing the day previous, with both of them present. Does anything occur to you?"

Rebelda shook her head, but she frowned. "There was an injury," she said. "A mishap. We were...ah...joking around a bit. And the blade sliced...well. It got all three of us."

Duncan grew still. "Deep enough to draw a Quickening?" he asked. 

"Yes," Rebelda said. She held up her hand. "It was almost nothing, really. Just a pricking."

Duncan nodded. He looked at everyone. "No live blades from here on out. We'll use wooden ones. I don't want anyone losing more memory than they already have."

"Agreed," Matthias said. 

"We should get started," Duncan said. "I'll meet you all down in the training room in half an hour. Matthias, let me...ah...show you your room, with your things."

Matthias drained the last of the coffee from his cup and left it on the table. He waited until Rebelda and Connor left the room. He watched Connor leave, and gave a level-eyed look at Connor's small, tugging frown. "You have been dancing around the subject, but I suspect I know what you have to say," Methos said. 

"Do you," Duncan said mildly. 

"It's hard not to guess. We were lovers, of course."

"Of course," Duncan said with a pinched expression. "And your things are in the room we share. Connor has another guest bedroom, and we can move your stuff there easily enough." He shifted slightly, and Methos could read his discomfort. "You and Connor...."

"Yes," Methos said. "I realize that this must be difficult for you, but I don't have any memory of you at all. How long were we together?"

"Fifteen years," Duncan said. 

Methos was stunned. "I stayed with you for fifteen years?"

"Yes," Duncan said, and his face was full of conviction. "I won't rest until you remember. Or...."

Methos considered it. "I am sorry. I can't love you back the way you would like. We may be able to be friends. I hope it will be enough."

"For now," Duncan said. He came to lean close to Methos, and turned his head to whisper in his ear. "I know your name," he said. 

"Do you?" Methos asked. After fifteen years, he would hope he trusted a lover enough to tell him his true name, but it wouldn't be the first time he would have withheld such information. "Speak it."

"Methos," Duncan whispered into his ear. "I'll wait," he continued to whisper. "Until you come back to me. For as long as it takes."

Even considering that he didn't know the man enough to care about him, the pain and tragic hope in his voice caught at Methos, and broke his heart, just a little. 

***** 

Connor heard the knock on his door and closed his eyes for a long moment. After speaking with Duncan, things were different. He couldn't break faith with the man, not when he felt that there were expectations. The man was family, if he could be believed, and there were things about him that caused Connor to believe. His voice, his accent, the words he chose, and the ones he didn't speak. Connor felt that the man truly was his distant cousin, a part of his clan, even if he didn't remember the vows he had made. 

The knock came again and Connor went to the door. Matthias stood there, with a calm expression, and one lifted eyebrow, questioning. "Would you bar me?" he asked. "Because of Duncan?" Matthias didn't mince words. 

"I have no other choice," Connor said. His fingers fairly itched to curl into the fabric of Matthias' shirt and pull him into the room. "You and he, you are...."

Matthias pushed his way into the room, and shut the door behind him. Connor backed up. "We are what?" Matthias asked. "Together? Certainly not. I don't know him, nor remember him."

"But you don't doubt he has spoken the truth."

Matthias made a face. "I believe him. There were clothes in his room that appeared to fit me. Other things that made me know he had not lied."

"He is heartbroken to lose you," Connor said. 

"I am not lost," Matthias replied. "Only misplaced. If even that." He took a step forward, into Connor's space. "Would you turn me away?"

"Yes," Connor replied, though he hated to do it. But he was stubborn enough for this, and knew right from wrong. "And ask you to leave."

Matthias frowned and leaned in against Connor, his hands on the wall to either side. Connor could duck under his arms, but he chose not to. Matthias moved his hands to clasp them at the back of Connor's head. "What if I say no?" Matthias rubbed his thumbs lightly at the junction of Connor's neck, just below his jaw. He slid the pads of his thumbs up and down, stroking against the column of Connor's neck. Matthias licked his lips and leaned in, capturing Connor in a kiss that Connor returned without thinking. 

He was demanding, and hot against him, and Connor could feel the need in him start to build. It burned a streak up his spine and into his brain. He drew Matthias in, kissing him harder, more fiercely, relentlessly, until Matthias was mewling deep in his throat, a sound of driven desire, a keening frustration. 

"More, please," Matthias said, eyes closed, with his forehead resting against Connor's. Connor could hear his near-desperation, and he felt the twin emotion in his own gut. "Do not send me away, for a man I don't remember. I remember you, Connor. Not him."

"I can't," Connor said, hoarse with despair. His fingers had finally curled into the fabric of Matthias' clothes, possessive all of their own accord. They clutched and held on, bruising the flesh beneath his knuckles, as he continued to twist the fabric. "Please, Matthias. Let it go." Connor felt shredded. His traitorous body wanted this, and his emotions flared, and he felt drunk on desire, and not a little of the adoration and love that he'd harbored was still there. It lurked beneath the surface, rising from the pit where he'd sent it after he'd thought he'd lost Matthias. 

"No," Matthias said. "I want you." He opened his eyes finally and stared at Connor, and for a moment Connor imagined there was a flame burning in his eyes. He blinked and the image was gone, but the intensity remained. "Don't deny me. Nor this." Matthias plunged back into another kiss, this time against Connor's throat, and his hands were threading through his clothes, to touch bare skin. Matthias' fingers were solid against Connor's hips, holding him. 

Connor groaned. "Yes," he said, all rational thought overlaid by the stimulation of his nerve endings. The devil might take his soul, he thought, because for once his stubborn will had deserted him, and he traced footsteps down a darker path. 

"Good," Matthias said. 

Connor barely thought again about Duncan, and the betrayal he allowed, because Matthias burned the treachery out of his head. Matthias' mouth laid fire to his skin, and his hands seared his flesh, and Connor writhed, and smoked, until nothing was left of him but embers. 

***** 

Duncan left his empty bed, which felt too cold, to retreat to the study. 

He knew where Methos had gone to sleep for the night, and it made him nauseated to think on it. If it had been either _his_ Connor or _his_ Methos, then it wouldn't have happened. But both at the same time, to have forgotten Duncan entirely...he couldn't blame them. They only remembered their past, not their present. 

But, oh, it made Duncan want to heave up his dinner, or hurl glasses at the wall. 

He wanted to blame somebody, but he could only find himself. Methos shouldn't have come with him. Then he would have been safe. Guilt flared inside Duncan's gut, and heated his face. He put his hands up, covering his eyes, and groaned. 

Being cordial had torn him inside out. He had a task to accomplish, and come hell or something worse than hell, he would get it done. If he had to barricade the doors and windows, and run to Holy Ground, he would find a way. Either he'd teach them how to fight and protect themselves, or he'd get their memories back. 

In the meantime, he would just have to swallow down his bile. Because even though Methos was alive and breathing, he was just as distant as a million miles away, and that hurt Duncan like a knife to the heart. And Connor--who was Duncan's family and one of his closest and most trusted friends--was just as lost to him, and in the worst twisted way imaginable. The betrayal of it would have flayed Duncan, except that he knew with his head that it wasn't meant as treachery. There was the crux of the situation, and no matter how Duncan tore it apart and put it back together again, logic only worked so well against the ache in his chest. 

Duncan wished Joe would hurry and find the records. He desperately wanted to read the accounts. Something would be in there. There just had to be. He had to find something. 

He couldn't lose either of them. Not like this. 

***** 

“Hell, I told you. I told you!” Joe was nearly apoplectic, once again returned to chastisement. “This was a bad idea. Don’t do this, I said. Stay away, I said. But did either of you listen? No.” 

“I know,” Duncan said for what felt like the hundredth time. “I know.”

Joe pointed a finger, his hand shaking with the emotion. “He’s gone. Our Adam. Our Methos. Gone.”

“I know, Joe. I _know_.”

Joe pulled up, a slew of emotions crossing his face. “Yeah. You do. Worse than me.”

Duncan felt the misery sink in his bones. It was a feeling that stretched all through him, from the tips of his fingers to the pit of his gut. “He’s still there, but he doesn’t know me. I found--" Duncan shook his head, unable to go on. He’d known the moment he’d seen Connor pressed in close, and Methos digging right back, as if they were trying to meld themselves together. Methos had mentioned, so long ago, that he and Connor had had a time together. That he’d known Ramirez. But it had been distant history for Duncan, and nothing to worry about. Now, it was everything he thought about. That Methos had moved his things out and was settled into another guest bedroom, and Duncan had watched him take stock of where Connor’s room was. Tonight Duncan would sleep alone again, and how could he expect Methos, or Connor for that matter, to keep promises made by them that they couldn’t remember having ever made? 

And then Duncan felt even worse for dwelling on his loss, when he needed to make sure all three of them were safe, and well trained. He had to acclimate them all to the modern world. He had to stop mourning, for someone who wasn’t dead. Because there was always hope. 

“What are you going to do?” Joe asked. “You’ve got a funny look.”

“I’m going to call Amanda.”

“Hell no!” Joe pounded the table-top with his hand, making his coffee cup jitter sideways. Luckily there was nobody nearby to be startled as they were alone in the coffee shop, other than two harried looking employees trying to clean up a pastry case behind the counter. They hadn’t even twitched at Joe’s outburst. “You can’t endanger anyone else! In fact, I think you should go home. I’ll go in there for you. Take care of it.”

“You can’t train them, Joe,” Duncan said. 

“I can damn well teach them how to use a tv remote,” Joe said bitterly. “What else is there to modern life?”

“I really need those notes, Joe,” Duncan said.

"Working on it," Joe told him. 

"Work harder." Duncan fixed Joe with a hard stare. “He didn’t give up on me when…when I wasn’t right. He took me to a holy spring.”

“Been tried,” Joe grunted. “Didn’t work.”

“Not the holy spring itself,” Duncan said. “But there’ll be something. I need research. Just possibilities.” Duncan looked into his coffee cup and discovered that it was empty. He’d drained it, and not even paid attention. “I think I know how it is transmitted. Which means I should be safe.”

“Should,” Joe said scathingly. “And if you forget, who’ll teach anybody anything then?”

Duncan ignored the question. There wasn’t an answer to it anyway. “Joe, those other cases. I need to see the records. The real journals. Not just be told the summaries. Maybe there’s something in the account, something that will help.”

“Fine. I’ll get them sooner,” Joe said. “It isn't like I travel around with them, you know. Requisitions take time. Now get back before they do something stupid while you’re gone and misplace even a few more decades.”

“Thank you, Joe,” Duncan said. He was turning over the situation in his mind. A glimmer of an idea was coming to him, but it was as yet just something in the circumstances that didn’t quite make sense. He needed to think on it. In the meantime, he needed Amanda here to help him. He couldn’t train three people all at once. 

Especially if he had to fight down a clawing, desperate fury at watching Methos turn away from him, and turn to Connor. The past wasn’t so distant anymore, it was up front and center. Duncan felt like he’d been gutted. 

**** 

 

“You aren’t,” Amanda said. She pulled a sweater out of her bureau and put it on the bed. New York was bitterly cold this time of year and she would need warm clothes. 

“I am,” Nick grabbed a pile of t-shirts and started stacking them inside a ridiculously olive green duffle bag. 

Amanda made a face, both at the ugly bag and at Nick’s stubbornness. She grabbed his pile of t-shirts and put them back in his dresser drawer. “You aren’t.”

Nick re-grabbed the pile of t-shirts and shoved them into the bag with more force. “I am.”

Amanda put a hand on her hip and pursed her lips. She studied Nick. “Didn’t you hear about the part where you could forget everything? Me. You. Life. Everything?”

“Yeah. I got it.” Nick moved away from the duffle and went to grab a pair of jeans. “And if you’re going, I’m going.” 

Amanda moved the stack of t-shirts again, shoving them down the laundry shoot. Nick turned and saw her maneuver with a groan. He narrowed his eyes. “I’ve got a hell of a lot less to forget.”

“You need to remember everything you know,” Amanda said. She tapped his forehead with a perfectly manicured fingertip. “You don’t have a lot of extra sword work up there that you can spare.”

“Pfft,” Nick said. 

“I’ll pfft you,” Amanda said, and leaned in to catch Nick in a kiss. She pressed him backwards, inching him a little bit at a time. 

“You can kiss me all you like, I’m still coming,” he said. 

“No, you’re not,” Amanda replied, and caught one of his wrists with a handcuff, and then neatly clipped the other to the radiator. Nick bellowed, and she stepped back. “Now, stay there, and I’ll call a friend in to release you in a few hours. If you don't free yourself sooner.”

“Amanda!” Nick yelled. 

“Pfft,” Amanda said with a flick of her fingers, and went back to packing. She chose another sweater. New York was bitterly cold this time of year, after all. 

***** 

Duncan ran his eyes down the rest of the page. He’d read everything about the previous instances of A Priori Syndrome, and the wheels were turning in his head. No answers were forthcoming, but he had a few ideas. He toyed with the idea of calling Joe. He knew that Joe would have read every scrap of paper just as intently, and he wondered if the same thoughts were winding through Joe’s brain. 

A slight cough at the doorway brought Duncan’s attention up. It was Connor, looking down very seriously at him. 

“Connor,” he said. He waved at a chair. “Make yourself comfortable.” He eyed the liquor cabinet. “There’s plenty of--"

“No, thank you,” Connor said. He did move into the room, but ended up leaning against the wall next to the door. “I was speaking with Rebelda earlier.” 

“Yes?” Duncan held a tight breath in his chest. 

“She filled in some of the details about our present situation.”

Duncan nodded. “Yes, of course. I’m glad she did. Anything you need to know, of course. It’s just hard to tell everything all at once. You understand.”

Connor’s eyes took in the entire room in a wide search before focusing back on Duncan. “You’re bringing more Immortals into the fold.”

“Yes. A friend. Her name is Amanda. You and she are friends as well. You can trust her. ” Duncan gave Connor a half-shrug. “Well, she’s got a light touch,” he clarified. “But you can trust her with life and death matters, implicitly.”

“And a mortal,” Connor said. 

“Joe,” Duncan said. “Another friend. I couldn’t do this without him,” he added. “He won’t betray us.”

“Hmm,” Connor said. His gaze was direct. “And Matthias?” he asked. “He was your love, and now he doesn’t remember you.”

“You don’t remember me, either,” Duncan said, the first thing that came to his mind. It wasn’t really an answer to the topic that Connor was broaching, but it deflected some of the hurt. 

Connor looked slightly discomfited. "Duncan. I realize this is difficult." He leaned back in his chair. "I just...I needed to...talk to you. All three of us, we depend on you."

Duncan could hear the unspoken sentiment. And Connor was fouling the waters. They needed Duncan to help them, and instead of doing what would keep Duncan steady, Connor and Methos were upsetting the equilibrium. He should have guessed that Connor's innate sense of guilt would at least drive him to this conversation. "I'll survive," Duncan ground out. "And I'm working on figuring out how to get your memories back." He laughed, but it was a bitter sound. "Besides. Water under the bridge." Duncan eyed the liquor cabinet and then turned away from it "Shall we go train?" he asked. 

Connor paused but then nodded. "As you wish, Duncan."

*****

In the morning, Duncan woke up, bleary-eyed, from the desk. He'd gone back to reading the papers and must have fallen asleep. Amanda was standing there, pristine in a stylish traveling suit. She even had a jaunty hat tilted over one eye. 

She had her hands on her hips and tsk'ed at him. "What am I to do with you?" she asked. "I suppose coffee is as good a plan as any."

Duncan closed his eyes again and what seemed like moments later, Amanda was back again, with a steaming mug that she put down on the desk with a clink. "There. Duncan, darling? I need you to wake up now."

Groggily, Duncan lifted his head. He snaked out a hand to catch at the mug. He also glanced at the clock. He'd fallen asleep very late, and here Amanda was, and it was too early. "Thanks," he said. When his head cleared a little, he said, "You got my message."

"Of course." Amanda smiled at him. "We'll get it fixed."

"I think I know how," Duncan said. 

"Do tell," Amanda said, and she plunked down on the nearest chair and put her chin in her hand. Her bright eyes sparkled at Duncan. 

As he sipped at the coffee, Duncan began to tell her about his theory. 

***** 

"Which one first?" Amanda asked, though she had a tilt to her head that told Duncan she had a strong opinion about the answer. It was much later in the day. They had already spent hours going over the reports that Joe had given him, and then had talked the situation over. And over. And over. In between, they had made coffee. At the moment, they were on their second pot. 

Duncan had introduced her to Connor, Methos, and Rebelda, to make sure they knew she wasn't a threat. It had been surreal to find that while Connor didn't know her yet, Methos already did. "Methos," Amdanda had said with a smirk, when the others weren't nearby. "What are you doing here?"

"Amanda," Methos had said, and blown her a kiss. "Being kept prisoner against my will."

"The more things stay the same," Amanda had murmured, and Methos had looked like the cat who'd eaten the canary. Duncan was beginning to really not like this older version of Methos. Not at all. 

"Adam, of course," Duncan replied to Amanda's original question. "Obviously."

"No, not obviously," Amanda replied. "You have to let them chose amongst themselves."

Duncan made a face. 

"I know you want him back," Amanda said, and slid off her chair to lean against Duncan's shins. She traced a fingertip on the fabric covering his knee. "But you can't force him to do this."

"Once he remembers, it won't be an issue," Duncan grated out. 

"If it doesn't work, he won't remember. And then who will volunteer for the next harebrained idea you've got?" Amanda studied her fingernails and gave them a look of disgust. "Darling, you know this."

Duncan sighed. He did know this. He just hated it and wanted it to be different. "I know. Okay. I'll lay it out before them. It was just...difficult." He clenched and unclenched his hands. 

"You've been at this awhile," Amanda said. "You're tired. It can wear at you."

"At the end of my rope," Duncan admitted. 

Amanda leaned up and kissed him on the cheek. "Don't let go," she said softly. 

 

***** 

Amanda felt the ice-water of _presence_ go down her back. She shivered. "Duncan?" she asked and looked up from the magazine she'd been flipping through. 

Duncan's eyes had gone wide. "Shit," he said. "It's too close in here for any of us. We never go out of range unless we leave the building. It's someone new."

"Oh, hell," Amanda said, and pulled her sword out as she went for the door. This was bad. They'd known that word would leak out, and that others would come headhunting, but Amanda thought that the building was a little bit more secure than this. Whomever it was, they were good. They were a serious threat. 

Duncan was two steps ahead of her. He pointed down one hallway. "I'll take the gym area. You take the second floor."

"Got it," Amanda said as she made her way to the staircase. She paused just at the top, and cautiously went onto the second floor. She could see one bedroom door open at the end, and she sidled along until she could see inside. It was empty. The bed was mussed and there were clothes scattered everywhere. Probably Methos' room. Which...she almost hoped it was. Methos still had the majority of his memories. He wasn't helpless, and was probably going to give as good as he got. He was the most likely to be able to successfully deal with an intruder. 

Amanda kept going. There was a door to the roof at this end. She tried the handle and found it unlocked. This meant a rooftop duel. She made sure to climb the stairs as quietly as she could. 

She pushed the door open at the top, peering through the crack first and seeing nothing. She came out onto the roof, and was aware of the wind being bitterly cold, and the sun setting harshly in the distance. She scanned the roof, and then heard the clang of metal against metal. Rolling left, she came around one of those roof structures that always seemed to be there. 

It was Methos. And he had his opponent on the ground. He caught Amanda's gaze just before he gave the final downswing of his sword, severing his opponent's head. 

Amanda gave him a nod and straightened out of her approaching stance. 

Lightning split the sky, and things exploded. Far below them, she could hear car alarms screech and wail. Fire licked its way across the flat areas of tar. Methos jolted like a rag-doll controlled by voodoo, and finally, painfully collapsed. 

Amanda approached him cautiously. "Methos?" she asked. 

"Still me," he croaked. He grabbed his sword and levered himself to a standing position. "I forgot how much that hurt," he said. "I haven't taken a head in a while."

"Are you sure?" she asked. The paperwork Joe had provided had been generally clear that taking a Quickening didn't resolve the memory loss, but she and Duncan had hoped it had been wrong, or a fluke. She wasn't sure how they would have dealt with the situation if taking a head would have solved the problem, but it would have been a neat little solution. 

"Quite," Methos said. "Still trying to wrap my head around the modern era. And certainly not in love with MacLeod." He grinned wryly at Amanda, and made a kissing motion at her. "You, however, I remember with a lot of fondness."

Amanda sighed with exasperation. "If it wasn't for Duncan, I'd take you up on the offer," she said coyly, "but I'd rather you regain your memories."

"Me as well," Methos said. "It puts me at a terrible disadvantage to have lost any time at all." He gestured to the dead Immortal at his feet. "Apparently not a resolution. But he needed to be dealt with."

"There will be others coming," Amanda said. 

"I know. It presents a serious problem. We may want to consider relocating."

"Yes," Amanda said. "But first, you should talk with Duncan. He has an idea. And he needs a volunteer."

"Consider me a guinea pig." Methos toed the shoulder of the body in front of him. "We'll need to figure out how to dispose of this." 

Amanda eyed the rooftop. Fortunately the fire had burned itself out, but they might not be so lucky next time. "And we should lay in a supply of fire extinguishers, too," she said. "Come on. Let's find Duncan. He's probably worrying himself to death."

***** 

Methos stared at MacLeod. The man was frighteningly brilliant, and scarily dense. It was an impressive combination.

"It's like a battery," MacLeod said, going on about his metaphor, and Methos stifled a sigh. He'd briefly encountered the modern battery concept--along with the near magical electricity--but MacLeod was trying to explain his idea by comparing it to a concept that the three of them really didn't have a background for anymore. "You have to recharge it."

"My taking a Quickening did not facilitate this battery recharging," Methos pointed out. 

"I don't think it's the right way," MacLeod said. "You're already a fully charged battery at that point, and then the Quickening is just more energy on top of that. It doesn't reset anything. Like a computer system, sometimes you have to reboot it. Or reinstall the entire operating system again. Take it back down to factory basics."

Methos slid a sidelong glance at Connor, who looked carefully blank, giving him a constipated air, and Rebelda, who looked utterly confused. Methos drummed his fingers on the top of the table. MacLeod had pushed some papers at them, copies of records detailing the A Priori syndrome happening previously to others. He'd glanced through them, curious, but what he'd read didn't quite dovetail with what MacLeod was outlining. 

"How does it work in practice?" Connor asked. "The reasoning behind your theory is too modern for me. What I want to know is how you implement this cure." 

MacLeod glanced to Amanda, who gave him the tiniest of nods. "We'll give you a mortal wound, and once you're dead, I'll inflict a wound on myself. I'll move close, and the wound healing on me should be able to go over, and heal your wound. Like a jump start on a car battery."

Methos snorted. MacLeod and his battery metaphors again. "We have no idea what a car battery is, MacLeod," he said out loud. "But I think your idea is ludicrous."

MacLeod puffed up, indignant. 

Before he could speak, Methos held up a hand. "Isn't this exactly how the syndrome is _passed_ along? By simultaneous wounding?" 

"That's why I think it will work. It's the same process, but in reverse. With the recipient in a dead state, the charge should go the other way."

"It seems very risky," Connor said. "If it doesn't work, you'll have amnesia as well." 

"I'm willing to risk it," MacLeod said.

"And leave us with Amanda only," Rebelda pointed out. "And there are more headhunters coming. I vote no. It's too much. Foolhardy. I don't like it."

"Neither do I," Connor said. "It's an insightful idea, Duncan. But if it doesn't work, we're far worse off than we are right now. We can't take that risk."

"We need to find another way," Rebelda said. "Isn't there anything else we can try? Something less dangerous? Exhaust all those other possibilities?"

"Hmm," Methos said. "Let's think about this. Tell me about his battery concept again. You say they are rechargeable?"

"Some of them," Amanda said. She turned to face Methos, and waved her hands around as she explained. "We use them in a lot of items now. Computers, cell phones, music players."

"And cars," Methos said.

"Yes. Like that. The battery holds a certain amount of energy, and you use it up, and then when it is low, you charge it again." Amanda paused. "Oh," she said, her eyes going round and wide. "I think I just figured it out." 

"Amanda?" MacLeod asked, and he put his hand on her forearm. "Figured what out?" 

"The way to do it," she said, "the way to reset them. Like your battery idea. But we didn't take it far enough out." She began to speak more quickly. "You know how the recommendation for rechargeable batteries is to let them be completely used up _before_ you recharge them. Otherwise the battery doesn't last as long. They have to be completely drained first."

There was shocked silence around the table. 

"What does that mean?" Rebelda asked in a soft voice. "What could be more drained than dead?" 

"The cure is worse than the disease," Connor muttered. 

"Death by a thousand cuts," Methos said. "It means that you would need to be wounded, again and again. Until the Quickening energy that should heal you is used up."

Rebelda drained of color. "But then what happens? Would we really be dead?"

"As long as your head is attached, you won't be permanently dead," MacLeod said. 

"That's true," Connor said. "But you might wish you were dead."

"Psh," Amanda said, and waved a hand. "This isn't the past anymore. They've developed all sorts of drugs. You won't feel a thing."

" _You_ won't feel a thing," Connor said. "As it isn't you going under the knife."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Fine. Stay as you are."

"Only one of us needs to test the theory out," Methos said. "I volunteer." He didn't miss the sucked in breath sound that MacLeod made. "But it can't be either of you. Too dangerous." He reached out and put his hand on the reports that littered the surface of the table. "This man, the one who brought you these. He's mortal. You trust him."

"With my life," MacLeod vowed. "But we can't ask him to do this."

"It absolutely can't be either of you," Methos said. "One slip, one involuntary move, and you'll forget everything." He shook his head. "This is the only way. You can observe, of course. But you have to be far enough away that you won't be compromised." He gave MacLeod a hard look. "Speak now if you don't trust him. I don't lightly put my life into the hands of mortals. Otherwise, we walk away from this. And go forward with this but a blip on the timeline of our lives." 

Amanda put her hand on top of Methos'. "We trust him with our lives, and with yours. You don't remember, but Joe is your friend."

Methos focused his attention on her. "Will he have the stomach for this?" he asked. 

Amanda took a long moment before answering. "I think so. But we'll have to ask him." 

***** 

"Like this," Duncan murmured, and he demonstrated on his own arm. The knife flashed in the light, and the wound was made with precision, and it took a moment before the blood welled up, dark and red. There was the snap and crackle of his Quickening coming to the fore, and it etched along the edges of the wound, sizzling blue-white for the briefest of moments, and then he was healed. "And then do it again." 

"Yeah, yeah, I got it." Joe ran a hand through his hair and scowled disbelievingly. "You can't be serious," he said. "You know this is nuts, right?"

"I know."

"There's a quote," Amanda said. She was in the corner of the room, with the syringe and a bottle of something strong. " 'twere well, it were done quickly."

"MacBeth," Joe grunted. "And this isn't that far from an assassination."

"You don't have to do this, Joe," Duncan said. "No one would blame you if you said no."

"I know, damn it. But who else is there?"

Amanda wandered over and put a hand on Joe's shoulder. "There's no one else. You know that. No one we would trust, anyway." She patted her hand down, once, twice, and then stepped away. 

"Like I don't have enough nightmares," Joe muttered, "Now I gotta add fuel to the fire."

Just then the door opened and Methos sauntered in. There was a tense line to his jaw but he gave them a grin. "Cheer up, people," he said as he came in. He settled on the edge of the table, giving a kick with his feet to resettled the plastic sheeting that was on the floor. "Let's just get this over with." He pulled his shirt off over his head and draped it to the side. 

Amanda came over with the syringe. "If this wears off, just tell us. There's more where this came from. And we don't need to worry about overdosing you."

"You say all the sweetest things," Methos said as he watched her prick through his skin. He flexed his arm and then closed his eyes. "Good stuff," he said and settled back. He looked at Joe. "Thank you," he said. "If this works...."

"If it doesn't work," Joe said. 

"We'll drink beer together either way," Methos said, sounding for a moment like his old self.

Duncan handed the knife to Joe, and Joe took it with a resigned finality. He held it for a moment, testing its heft. "I'll be here the whole time, Joe," Duncan said. "I'd do this, if I could, but you know I can't. But I'll be here."

"What a gruesome pep squad," Joe said and shook his head. "Okay, let's get this show on the road." He turned with the knife, and made the first cut. 

Methos let out a long breath. "That's fine," he said, his voice groggy and fading away. "I can handle that." 

Duncan settled back against the wall, and crossed his arms over his chest, and watched Joe. To his credit, Joe was very methodical. It took a little bit of practice, but after a bit, he had it down. He rotated through five different cuts, by the time he'd made the fifth one, the area over the first had healed and he could start again. He fell into the rhythm of the thing, and Duncan watched as he readily kept working. 

Joe was careful, with a steady hand. Hardly a drop of blood was spilt, and the slices that he created were even, short, and perfunctory. 

For a long time, Duncan didn't think anything was changing. The healing energy came just as brightly and quickly as ever, but finally, Duncan noticed a change. Either Methos was slowing down, or Joe was. He didn't need five cuts anymore, four was enough. Then only three. 

Methos roused slightly, and turned his head to stare at Joe. "Do I know you?" he slurred. "You're a Watcher. In the Watchers. But shouldn't you be younger?"

Joe paused and looked at Duncan, stunned. Duncan could only stare back and give him a hopeful nod. "Keep going," Duncan said. "We don't want to have to start this again. Finish it completely." 

"Hold on a moment, Joe," said Amanda from the corner. She came forward with the syringe again. "It's just a chaser," she murmured. "Nothing like the first dose."

It was another long wait, while Joe went back to his task. Duncan could read the fatigue in the man's shoulders and the cant of his neck. This was wearing on him, physically and mentally, and Duncan couldn't believe the stamina he had already exhibited. 

The Quickening energy coming to Methos' skin was drowsy and sluggish, stuttering. The wounds were healing, but slowly, and in short bursts. Now, Methos was bleeding. Joe had slowed down as well, tending to each cut before making another. He was reaching the end of the titration. 

Methos rolled his head. "Joe," he breathed. "Walker? Amy?"

"Almost there, buddy," Joe said. "Hang in there."

Duncan clenched his hands at his side. He wanted to rush forward, but that was dangerous. He glanced to Amanda. She looked unsteadily back and motioned to the syringe. Duncan shook his head. 

Now the Quickening hardly came at all. A thin rivulet of blood seeped down Methos' arm, and he drew his arm in, away from Joe. "No more," he whispered, his voice cracking, and dry. "You can't make me tell you where I hid your Christmas present." 

"Methos?" Joe asked, his face a mask of weariness. "That better be you, you son of a bitch."

"It's me, Joe. It's me." Methos shifted on the table. "I'm going to pass out now. See you later." He took a shallow, shuddering breath. "And thanks," he whispered. 

***** 

Amanda kissed Duncan on the cheek. "Take good care of them. And yourself," she said. "I'll see you when I see you."

"Amanda," Duncan said, and pressed one of her hands between his own. "Thank you."

Amanda brought her other hand up and brushed it across Duncan's cheek, and she smiled at him. "How about the next time you call, it's for a fabulous vacation somewhere warm, and nothing to do with life or death emergencies."

"It's a deal," Duncan said. He smiled at her. 

"Bye for now," she said, and pulled her hand free. She turned and sauntered down the street. She'd stayed an extra two days, helping Joe get through the other two events, Connor and Rebelda both showing courage to face the procedure, although she thought they were much less traumatic than when he'd presided over Methos. For one thing, he wasn't nearly as close to either Connor or Rebelda. For another, they all knew the outcome. It was a lot easier to inflict damage when you knew it really was for the greater good. 

Amanda eyed the street corner as she neared it. A vagabond was sacked out right against the wall, and he'd begun to move toward her. She sighed. 

"Have a nice time spying?" she asked as the vagabond fell into step. 

"No. It's cold out here," Nick said. "And I could only tell what was going on inside half the time."

"So this was your solution when I told you that you couldn't come," Amanda said. "To camp outside, pretending to be homeless."

"You weren't going to let me inside," Nick pointed out. 

"True."

"So, is the problem solved?" he asked. 

"For the moment," Amanda said. She waved an arm and rolled her eyes. "It's fine. They're all back to normal." She wrinkled her nose. "Which can't be said for you." 

Nick pulled a keycard out of his pocket and held it out to her. 

Amanda frowned at him but took the keycard. "What's this?"

"Hotel suite," Nick said. "Hot shower. Feather duvet. Room service."

"Ohhh, I see," Amanda said. She looked him up and down, and raised an eyebrow. "You shower, and I'll order champagne." 

"Anything to get off these mean streets," Nick replied. 

***** 

"You've looked better."

Joe picked his head up from his hands and squinted. Judy was standing primly in front of him, a cup of coffee in each hand. "I've looked worse," he retorted. 

"Not recently," she said right back at him. She put one of the coffee cups down on the desk. "Drink that, you'll feel better." She wrinkled her nose. "Then you should go and grab a shower."

"Yeah," Joe said. He'd been up late working on his report, which had been a twisted agony of mincing words and bald-faced semantics. It held the truth, but he'd padded it. Every sentence felt torn from his soul. Exhausted, he'd finally just put his head down where he was, and slept in his chair, with his face on the blotter. 

"I read your report." Judy perched herself at the end of another chair in the room. She sipped at her coffee, glancing at Joe across the lid. "And between the lines a bit."

"How every good report should be read," Joe grumbled. 

"It must have been...difficult," she said. "What you did. It sounded truly awful." She leaned forward and put out her hand, touching Joe's fingers. 

"Yeah," Joe said again. It had been the stuff of nightmares. But he'd had no real choice. If there was any chance, no matter how repugnant, then Joe would have participated. And he'd done it. Methos was back, as well as Connor and Rebelda. Joe had done that. It hadn't been easy, but it had been worth it. 

"Joe?" Judy asked. 

Joe lifted his head to look at her. She was a wealth of coolness, and Joe remembered that she'd spent decades in the field, looking after her own assignments. She'd been to the depths and heights, and managed to come home again. 

"Drink the coffee," she said. "After that, we can talk as long as you like. And I'll listen. It'll start to get better. I promise. But first, you have to drink your coffee."

She was still lightly holding the fingers of one hand, so Joe used the other to grab hold of the coffee cup. She gave him a small, encouraging smile. He lifted the cup and took a sip. It was rich, hot, and delicious. The aroma wafted around his head, and suddenly Joe felt lighter, and better than he had in days. He grinned. 

"Told you," Judy said, and Joe laughed. 

*****

Duncan was bone-deep weary. He felt like he'd been running on empty at a hundred miles an hour for weeks, although it hadn't actually been that long. In fact, while they'd missed Thanksgiving, Christmas was still looming ahead of them. It seemed inconceivable he'd spent this much time at Connor's building, and if nothing else, being inside all the time was making everybody stir crazy. 

Still, the stress of everything had taken its toll, and he felt heavy-limbed and exhausted. It was the first night, really, that he was going to be able to finally sleep, and rest, and perhaps not have nightmares. 

He turned on his side, and smiled. 

Methos was there, back where Duncan wanted him, instead of...Duncan dismissed the thought. It didn't matter where Methos had been when he hadn't remembered, because now that he did recall, he had come back. Back to Duncan, and back to their bed together, and just generally back where he belonged. 

The first two nights after Methos' recovery had been chaotic. Connor and Rebelda had needed to undergo the same difficult transition, and Duncan had tried to stay focused on that. But it had been harrowing to see how drained each of them had been from the process. Recovery from the ordeal had required massive amounts of rehydration, and excessive hours sleeping. 

Connor and Rebelda were still in the recovery phase. So was Methos. 

The horrid misery of the entire ordeal had only eased in measure. It still lingered at the back of his mind--the pain and betrayal. It was going to take time for them to heal the rifts, and the deep hurt. The bitter taste of distrust was not easily washed away, no matter the reasons. But Duncan had time at his disposal, because there was so much to gain from letting his heart find forgiveness. There was a soft flutter of hope fulfilled now, and the warm glow of love, and this would be just a small bump of inconsequence in a hundred years. Duncan let himself enjoy the moment. All was quiet and those he loved were safe.

Methos opened one eye. "You're staring at me," he complained. 

"I'm almost too tired to sleep," Duncan said. "And I'm just happy you're here. This whole thing is starting to finally feel like a bad dream."

Methos snorted and closed his eye. "You're just glad I'm not down the hall, snogging Connor."

"Don't remind me," Duncan said. The ache of that was still too recent, but it was a pain that was fading. Eventually he knew it would be just a distant memory, but for right now it was too fresh. "You have no idea how awful that was."

"Maybe some idea," Methos said. "I do remember it, you know. I don't have amnesia of when I had amnesia." 

Duncan groaned. "Stop joking," he said, but he couldn't find any harshness for his words. Actually, having Methos making fun of the situation did somehow ease the appalling sting of it.

Methos shifted closer to Duncan and he moved one arm to come against Duncan's thigh. "You could let me make it up to you," he said. "Prove to you that I prefer your company over that of your kinsman."

Duncan chuckled. "I think I'd enjoy that."

"Me, too," Methos said. 

Duncan slid down until he was face to face with Methos. He leaned in to press a kiss against Methos' lips, and Methos opened his mouth, pliant and demanding, both. Duncan put one hand on Methos' neck, his thumb under the jaw-line, and he broke the kiss. 

There was a definite spark of interest in Methos' eyes, and also a greater amount of tiredness. Duncan could see the depths of love again in Methos' face, his eyes, the twitch of his nose, the purse of his lips. It had been absent when he'd lost his memory, and more even than Duncan's dismay when Methos had gone off to spend his nights in Connor's bed, had been Duncan's unfettered pain at losing that light that he saw in Methos when Methos looked at him. 

It eased that treacherous pain in his heart like a cool balm. Things weren't perfectly right with the world, but they were back on track. Time together, and moving beyond the recent horrendous events, would resettle them together. Duncan had no doubt now about that. 

"Later," Duncan said. "There will be time later. Let's just sleep." He gathered Methos into his arms, in as much as Methos gathered him right back, and they fell asleep tangle-limbed.


End file.
